"Painless" publishing? Perish the thought

I need an attitude check about publishing in academe. My heart is just not in it.

My background and experience as a high school Language Arts teacher have something to do with it. Writing instruction has changed considerably over the last several decades. I am deeply indebted to the reader/writer workshop model and practitioner-scholars such as Lucy Calkins, Linda Rief, and Nancy Atwell, who have influenced my personal approach to writing as well as how I frame instruction for young writers.

So, for example, with an ulterior motive informed by the fact that my son insists he "hates" reading, I announced recently over dinner one night that he was going to write books this summer. His immediate response was, "Can we publish them?" Now, that makes my heart swell!

Publishing redefined
Where I come from, "publishing" simply means sharing your writing with an audience of at least one (and not just your teacher). My son is only seven years old, and he already grasps this notion, reinforced not only by me but his Kindergarten and first-grade teachers, too.

This is a monumental K-12 instructional reform. Just ask your parents or grandparents to recall their own memories of learning to write. They will likely regale you with horror stories of weekly themes written strictly for the English teacher, who heavily inscribed each page of the students' composition notebooks in red pen, possibly encoding her feedback using one of the cryptic, numerical hierarchies of English grammar errors, such as Warriner's or UT's own Hodges Harbrace handbook. (And you thought journal reviewers were mean!)

Those of us of a certain age can probably recall being told by well-intentioned English teachers never to use the first-person and never to write in this-or-that color of ink.  I suppose it's all part of being socialized into academic Discourse, which serves a purpose, but by virtue of its sheer dominancy in K-12 education and beyond, has all but eclipsed other legitimate ways of being, communicating, and publishing.

For example, some in academia look askance upon digital and web-based publishing. As a matter of professional survival, graduate students and untenured faculty avoid publication in open-access, online journals for fear it will be discounted in decisions about hiring, promotion, and tenure. As Rich (2012) warns: "Remember that not all peer-reviewed journals are equal nor will these likely be evaluated equally on the job market" (p. 378).

Still. I am intrigued by online journals such as New Horizons For Learning, supported by Johns Hopkins University.  It has an established history of open-access online publishing for manuscripts pertaining to all aspects of education. Part of the New Horizons mission is to create a lab of ideas through a virtual roundtable of expert professionals.  The journal puts forth a call for open submissions for publication, and participants vet the content through a "generative process" on the website. It's a complete revisioning of peer-reviewed publication.

So, I bristle a bit upon receiving well-intentioned advice about having "a competitive publishing record" (Rich, 2012, p. 376). I guess I am just having myself a sort of "Norm Denzin" moment. But, then, I consider Tracy's (2010) argument for developing universal standards of quality for rigor and trustworthiness in qualitative research, and I can appreciate the usefulness of criteria for evaluation. As Tracy says, "...[G]uidelines and best practices regularly serve as helpful pedagogical launching pads across a variety of interpretive arts" (p. 838).

I am reminded of the old adage: you must learn the rules before you can break the rules.

Why should the writing process, including the publication stage, be any less rigorous? From a sociocultural perspective (my preferred lens), it makes sense. The writing process is a continual learning process, in which the learner, or in this case, writer, must use and internalize the external tools of the trade (i.e. "rules" and conventions of language use and representation) before she can expertly innovate and break new literary ground with them.

SOAPP
One of my favorite "pedagogical launching pads" in the classroom was a mnemonic to scaffold students' thinking as they approached new writing tasks and performance “prompts.”  The mnemonic was “SOAP,” which stood for “subject, occasion, audience, and purpose,” as in, “What is the subject?  What is the occasion for writing?” and so on.  Later I modified SOAP, which I came to view as not appropriately acknowledging students’ social and cultural contexts. I added a second "P" to stand for "perspective" or "position." Using the rule of SOAPP, I encouraged students to ask themselves, “What is my position?” and “What is my perspective?”  It was a small step toward leaving the safe but predictable (and oftentimes inauthentic) confines of classroom discourse.

As I read Rich's publishing guide for graduate students, I thought (for the first time in a long time) about my trusty SOAPP heuristic. In my field, literacy scholars often critique academic-based discourses as limiting students’ literacy development and falling short of helping students attend to their own perspectives and identities vis-à-vis writing topics and intended audiences.

Dyson (2004), for instance, speaks of a paradox in her essay “Writing and the Sea of Voices.” During the last part of the 20th century, teachers, riding a wave of socioculturally fueled research, tried hard – too hard it seems – to bridge sociocultural contexts by incorporating more talk and discussion in the classroom. But, the pendulum swung too far, and researchers began to focus new attention on the negative impact of teacher-centered talk on student writing processes. Dyson argues that some teacher-initiated talk may create classroom cultures that are no more culturally relevant than the cognitive and Behaviorist environments that preceded them.

Although her work is dedicated to the social and cultural aspects of K-12 teaching and learning, Dyson's critique of the “dyadic” apprenticeship model inspired me to re-examine Rich's (2013) article. How does his "Quick and (Hopefully) Painless Guide to Establishing Yourself as a Scholar" function as one such "dyadic encounter"? In dispensing his writing advice, how well does Rich address the components of SOAPP, particularly the last "P" ?

Rich immediately launches into the writing "occasion," which refers to both immediate situations and contexts that generate a piece as well as broader contexts that motivate its development. Rich addresses all of these, including the universal "publish or perish" mantra that prods much academic writing. He makes a good point that as soon as one starts graduate school, occasions to conduct research and to write are everywhere. These ideas should be noted or logged for future reference.

What follows is an intertwined discussion of "subject" and "purpose" for writing. Rich encourages readers to choose topics about which they are passionate and for which they have an interest, but the viability of a topic primarily resides in whether or not the author can achieve some meaningful purpose or "contribution" with it. This aligns with advice from other scholars (Kilbourn, Piantanida & Garman), and I respect Rich's avoidance of the clichéd literature "gap." Identifying one's purpose is "the most important question to address" (Rich, p. 376), but to answer the question, one must consider the "complex interplay" between subject and purpose (to use Kilbourn's expression). From a qualitative standpoint, Rich hints at the value of highly subjective, unique interpretive perspectives, when he suggests that "challenging the conventional wisdom has more appeal than reaffirming what is already accepted" (p. 376).

As this article focuses on publishing, the "audience" component figures prominently, from advice on formatting (avoid jargon in subheads) to leveraging peer feedback as a gauge of broader audience appeal. Some of Rich's advice is helpful, but some tips come across as superficial flourishes, at best, to downright pandering, at worst. He instructs ambitious graduate students to scan a desired journal and, "If a journal has recently published something similar on your topic in the past few years, attempt to cite this work; many journals ask the recently published authors to review articles" (p. 377).

And then this: "After you choose a journal for submission, tailor the paper based on the journal's particular theoretical, methodological, or interdisciplinary focus to encourage positive reviews or at least minimize negative remarks" (p. 377). Something about that does not settle well with me, and it has something to do with that other "P."

Save for one comment about developing a "clear and concise style" (p. 378), Rich provides little to no guidance in his "Painless Guide" on developing and maintaining one's personal voice and positionality -- dare I say "integrity"? -- during the tumultuous publishing process.

Writing for an audience is a skill. Not too long ago, being a published author was an accomplishment enjoyed by an elite few. That is still true in academia, but other genres of writing and writing communities are expanding and reaching new audiences. Authors once shut out from the publishing process are finding a voice.

It's an exciting time, but with opportunity comes responsibility. The publishing process sensitizes the writer to the needs of her audience. Ideally, through the process, the writer also develops and refines her style, voice, and perspective. It should be a mutually reinforcing dynamic, but, in academic publishing, it seems difficult to maintain a balance between the two.

References
Dyson, A. H. (2004). Writing and the sea of voices: Oral language in, around, and about writing. In R.B. Ruddell & N.J. Unrau (Eds.), Theoretical Models and Processes of Reading (5th ed., pp. 146-162). Newark, DE: International Reading Association.

Kilbourn, B. (2006). The qualitative doctoral dissertation proposal. The Teachers College Record, 108(4), 529–576.

Rich, T. S. (2013). Publishing as a graduate student: A quick and (hopefully) painless guide to establishing yourself as a scholar. PS: Political Science & Politics, 46(02), 376–379.

Tracy, S. J. (2010). Qualitative quality: Eight “big-tent” criteria for excellent qualitative research. Qualitative Inquiry, 16(10), 837–851.

"Painless" publishing? Perish the thought

ATLAS.ti networks as a mechanism for establishing trustworthiness

On Tuesday morning I attended a special topics webinar on ATLAS.ti network views conducted by Susanne Friese.

The network view tool in ATLAS.ti enables the researcher to create "interactive mind maps," something I have already written a bit about in a previous post.

Basically, the hermeneutic unit (the ATLAS project file) is the total network. All objects added to or created within ATLAS (documents, artifacts, memos, quotations, codes) instantly become nodes in the network when they are linked to something else (for instance, a code to a quotation, a memo to a code, and so on), and these links may then be visualized.

I sat in on the session in hopes of learning more about this ATLAS function, which I have come to appreciate as a scaffold for both analysis and writing (harder and harder to separate these two processes, I am learning).

As I listened to Susanne Friese and her "vondervul" German accent, I also made a few connections between network views and this week's readings in EP659, which focus on trustworthiness and issues of quality in qualitative inquiry (Anfara, Brown & Mangione, 2002; Tracy, 2010).

According to Anfara et al., "...[A] key part of qualitative research is how we account for ourselves, how we reveal that world of secrets" (p. 29). Neither Anfara and his colleagues nor Tracy specifically mention CAQDAS as a tool for ensuring quality, but both articles discuss transparency of data management, coding, and analysis as a mechanism for strengthening research quality.

Tracy, for example, provides a more than adequate rationale for use of digital tools in her discussion of "rich rigor," one of the eight major criteria in her reconceptualization of excellent qualitative research. She writes,

Rigorous data analysis may be achieved through providing the reader with an explanation about the process by which the raw data are transformed and organized into the research report. Despite the data-analysis approach, rigorous analysis is marked by transparency regarding the process of sorting, choosing, and organizing the data. (p. 841)

And Anfara et al.’s example of “code mapping” (p. 32) is quite simply a picture of one researcher’s analytic process that could easily be depicted using ATLAS.ti’s network view. Although, with charts and tables, one must be critically conscious of not merely showing a hierarchy of codes, which Friese adamantly warns against. (See "Analytic capabilities of network views" below.) The researcher builds a network view in ATLAS based on his or her interpretation of relationships across codes and categories, thus making the network view tool indispensable for conducting constant comparative analyses, building "audit trails," and "documenting the procedures used to generate categories" (Anfara et al., p. 33).

Creswell (2013) is more direct in his endorsement of CAQDAS. In the chapter on validation strategies in the newest edition of his Qualitative Inquiry and Research Design, he mentions the use of computer programs to assist in recording and analyzing data as one of several ways for enhancing the stability and dependability of findings, or, what is known in positivistic terms as "reliability."

Networks are compelling visual diagrams that add transparency to the researcher's process, and I am now considering how I might incorporate them into the write-up of my own research findings or my dissertation appendices.

Here are a few other notes I took from Tuesday’s webinar:

Basic concepts of network views

• Strong and weak links are denoted by solid (strong) and dotted (weak) lines
• Weak links between nodes are unnamed. They exist between memos and quotations, codes and quotations, memos and memos, and between families and their members.
• Named links express relationships between two codes or two quotations
• Named links may be "directed/transitive" ------> and "non-directed/symmetric" <-------> 
• Background colors in network views coordinate to code colors (if you use color)
• Hyperlinks occur on the data level, between two codes or between two quotes

How to link objects

• You can drag and drop from anywhere, bringing objects into the network view manager. You can also import nodes into the network (any object from the HU). For instance, you can select a code and import all its quotations.
• Take time to play with the display options under the Display drop-down menu
• In the relations editor, you can create your own relations with colored lines of different point sizes (See “How to create relations” below.)
• Comments can be added to relations and are denoted with a tilde just as with other comments in other areas of ATLAS
• NEVER DELETE AN OBJECT from the network view, use the "remove from network view" option instead
• Creating links between data opens up different kinds of relations, as opposed to linking codes, which is more conceptual
• You can save a network as a graphic file (png, gif, jpg) and insert into a PowerPoint or MSWord doc

How to create relations

• Open Relations Editor and expand the window until you see the Edit tab
• Decide on the relation you want and crate a unique identifier, the first three letters and then the actual memo text (e.g. REA is the identifier for "is reason for")

Working with hyperlinks

Example of "star" links

• Hyperlinks are "stars" or "chains" of links
• Quotes may be linked within and across documents

Analytic capabilities of network views

• Codes are just topics and areas of interest within the data, they describe
• Networks take it to the conceptual level, so networks are for linking across categories and depicting relationships between data, not for building code hierarchies. DO NOT USE NETWORK VIEW FUNCTION TO REPRESENT YOUR CODE STRUCTURE. IT'S TWO DIFFERENT LEVELS OF ANALYSIS.
• Use network view after coding when you start to see relationships.
• ATLAS.ti version 7 allows you to filter codes that you bring into the view. You can hit Reset Filter to bring back all codes.
• Code families are just grouping mechanisms for codes. Families are filters: create family, then turn on filter.

References

Anfara, V. A., Brown, K. M., & Mangione, T. L. (2002). Qualitative analysis on stage: Making the research process more public. Educational Researcher, 31(7), 28–38.

 Creswell, J. W. (2013). Qualitative inquiry and research design: Choosing among five approaches (3rd ed., Kindle version.). Los Angeles: SAGE Publications, Inc.

 Tracy, S. J. (2010). Qualitative quality: Eight “big-tent” criteria for excellent qualitative research. Qualitative Inquiry, 16(10), 837–851.

ATLAS.ti networks as a mechanism for establishing trustworthiness

A new "pressure point"

I remember well Piantanida and Garman’s (2009) advice about constructing a logic-of-justification for a research genre. It is not simply a matter of locating a recipe for the study. Instead, one must recognize and sort through the “epistemological and methodological pressure points” in the literature and choose which ideas will best guide the study at hand (Ch. 7, Conventions of a Genre and Logic-of-Justification, para 2).

I had forgotten that Piantanida and Garman had specifically referenced grounded theory as one such genre framed by “contentious literature”!

So, as I began my background reading of constant comparative analysis (with its roots in grounded theory), I was not expecting to encounter a new pressure point.

The tension for me, however, is not within the grounded theory tradition itself but between grounded theory’s constant comparative method and Stake’s (1995) case study method.

I thought I had this part pretty well sewn up: case study research methods, followed by constant comparative analysis, and concluding with activity systems analysis. The path, while not necessarily easy, was at least clear.

Now, a bump in the path. 

Points of departure
On the subjects of generalization and sampling, I see a need to reconcile the different analytic stances of Strauss and Corbin versus Stake. With constant comparative method originating in the grounded theory tradition, and with the purpose of grounded theory being a systematic progression from descriptive to theoretical, is constant comparative analysis compatible with Stake's case study approach?

Time and again, Stake emphasizes that “case studies are undertaken to make the case understandable” (p. 85). He writes, “The function of research is not necessarily to map and conquer the world but to sophisticate the beholding of it” (p. 43). A skilled case researcher should organize his or her report in such a way as to stimulate a resonance with readers, who draw on their own past experiences with past cases to form “naturalistic generalizations” (p. 85).


Case research, then, is never about sampling: “Our first obligation is to understand this one case” (p. 4, emphasis added).

On the other hand, Strauss and Corbin (1998) present a step-by-step process of microanalysis that moves beyond description to conceptualizing and classifying and (eventually) theory building. The basic operations of theory building are 1) asking questions and 2) making theoretical comparisons -- analytic tools that guide and direct theoretical sampling.

In grounded theory, the researcher makes theoretical comparisons when in doubt or confused by the data. "The object, then, is to become sensitive to the number and types of properties that might pertain to phenomena that otherwise might not be noticed or noticed only much later" (Strauss &Corbin, p. 82). Properties and dimensions of one thing are used as tools for examining another.

Strauss and Corbin say the point of theoretical comparison is to move beyond describing and pinning down "facts." The issue, they say, is to move from the particular to the general.

The sticking point
How does the process of theoretical comparison fit with case study analysis?

Stake is clear: case studies don't produce generalizations, they refine them. Through counter example, a case study may help modify an existing generalization, but "the real business of case study is particularization, not generalization. We take a particular case and come to know it well, not primarily as to how it is different from others but what it is, what it does" (p. 8).

Particularization is the avenue to understanding, not generalization.

Or, has constant comparative method (and coding and memo writing, for that matter) become so commonplace within the broad spectrum of qualitative inquiry that it can be logically applied in descriptive case study? Has the constant comparative method become independent of grounded theory as a thematic analysis tool? At what point did the tools of grounded theory work cross over into the mainstream?

For instance, Saldaña (2013) presents six coding methods from the grounded theory “coding canon” in the newest edition of his book: in vivo, process, initial (formerly “open”), focused, axial, and theoretical (formerly “selective”). He says they all can be used in other non-grounded theory studies (p. 51).

At my breaking point

Part of my confusion, I realize now, stems from the fact that I have never clearly resolved in my head if my case is, according to Stake's terms, an "intrinsic" one or an "instrumental" one. In an intrinsic study the unique case itself is the center of attention; in instrumental study the case(s) are selected purposefully based on the researcher’s need to more fully understand an issue. Whatever the case, it’s not a process of sampling.

I think my study is somewhere in the middle: the case was practically handed to me on a silver platter, but my interest is instrumental and pre-existing. I embraced the opportunity to study the case in question because of my own a priori interests.

Stake warns that it is often not easy to categorize one’s work based on these distinctions. The researcher’s interest in the case (intrinsic versus instrumental) dictates the methods of analysis.

Where once I appreciated Stake’s broadminded stance (“..I encourage you readers to be alert for tactics that do not fit your style of operation or circumstances. Before you is a palette of methods” [Introduction, p. xii].), I now barely comprehend his musings on the “mystical side of analysis” (p. 72).

Stake writes,

Where thoughts come from, whence meaning, remains a mystery. The page does not write itself, but by finding, for analysis, the right ambience, the right moment, by reading and rereading the accounts, by deep thinking, then understanding creeps forward and your page is printed. (p. 73)

Whaaat?

Points on a continuum
Must I choose between Stake’s riddles and Strauss and Corbin’s rigidity?

In short, no. But I definitely need to write a clear articulation of the purpose, nature, and selection of my case as part of the logic-of-justification for my analytic methods.

For Stake, the case researcher must be equally inclined toward inductive analysis, which he calls "categorical aggregation," and interpretive analysis, or "direct interpretation." An intrinsic case study requires more direct interpretation, as there is little time or need to aggregate categorical data. Intrinsic case studies are more descriptive, with emphasis on particularization. In contrast, instrumental case studies are more theoretical, with emphasis on induction and generalization.

These analytical methods reside along a paradigmatic continuum with no hard-and-fast boundaries. Stake writes, "The quantitative side of me looked for the emergence of meaning from the repetition of phenomena. The qualitative side of me looked for the emergence of meaning in the single instance" (p. 76).

As with every other stage of the process, reflexivity is key:

Each researcher needs, through experience and reflection, to find the forms of analysis that work for him or her....The nature of the study, the focus of the research questions, the curiosities of the researcher pretty well determine what analytic strategies should be followed: categorical aggregation or direct interpretation. (p. 77)

The point, I think, is it is up to me to argue compatibility between the constant comparative method and Stake. The type and purpose of the case, the conceptual structure of the study, and reflexive management of evolving research questions will determine where I land along the analysis continuum.

References
Piantanida, M., & Garman, N. B. (2009). The qualitative dissertation: A guide for students and faculty (2nd ed., Kindle version.). Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin.

Saldaña, J. (2013). The coding manual for qualitative researchers (2nd ed.). Los Angeles: SAGE Publications Ltd.

Stake, R. E. (1995). The art of case study research. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications.

Strauss, A., & Corbin, J. M. (1998). Basics of qualitative research: Techniques and procedures for developing grounded theory. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications.

A new "pressure point"

Dropping the ball

Research is a juggling act. I think to be a successful researcher you must juggle at any given time at least four of the following: data collection, reading, writing, analysis, reflexivity -- always reflexivity and reflection.

Am I leaving anything out? Probably.

This whole semester I thought I was doing well, when, in fact, at most I was tossing around maybe two things at a time. Big deal.

After reading the coding and analysis literature this week, I realize I have dropped a major ball, the analysis one.

I also realize I have some new questions. (See end of post for questions).

Coding, analysis, and interpretation
Coding is a commonly accepted approach to analysis, and, as such, it has its share of critics, who claim it is an over-glorified form of reductionist frequency counting.

In the opening chapters of the new edition of his coding manual, Saldaña (2013) addresses the critics. He says coding is not the end-all, be-all of analysis. Nor is it a discrete stage of analysis done in isolation from other aspects of research.

Saldaña argues that coding does not distance the researcher from his or her data:

If you are doing your job right as a qualitative researcher, nothing could be further from the truth. Coding well requires that you reflect deeply on the meanings of each and every datum. Coding well requires that you read and reread and reread yet again as you code, recode, and recode yet again. Coding well leads to total immersion In your data corpus with the outcome being exponential and intimate familiarity with its detail, subtleties, and nuances. (p. 39)

I so need to do this. I haven't been handling the data well at all. I have been amassing it, stockpiling it, peering at it occasionally with heavy heart as I do with hampers of dirty laundry. In fact, I now have piles of neatly folded, laundered clothes, and no grasp of my study. I will choose laundry any day over the challenge of data analysis.

The readings on coding and analysis cause me to feel a pit in my stomach as I realize how far removed I have become from the actual texts of my study. I haven't transcribed in weeks. I haven't touched, much less reflected on, field notes, emails, and other artifacts from last semester. I acquired a thick folder of documentation from one of the key informants for my study, and the documents still sit where I left them two weeks ago.

Worse, I have been continually conducting interviews with participants for the last three months, without the benefit of immersion in the data to guide or shape my interactions with those participants.

In their discussion on the process of line-by-line microanalysis, Strauss and Corbin (1998) write, "We are moved through microanalysis by asking questions, lots of them, some general but others more specific. Some of these questions may be descriptive, helping us ask better interview questions during the subsequent interviews" (p. 66).

I should be forming theoretical questions that probe relationships between concepts and then asking these question during follow-up interviews.

I just concluded the first round of interviews. Time is running out for follow-ups, as my participants are classroom teachers who will not relish being interviewed over summer vacation. This is a potential problem.

Analytic memos
And because I have not been immersed in the data, I also have not generated a single analytic memo about the data, not since last semester. This is another problem.

Analytic memos are the raw materials for what will ultimately become the “theoretic text,” in which the researcher “finally sees the theoretic interpretation – core thesis – he or she wants to put forward” (Piantanida & Garman, 2009, Ch. 13, para 1). They are initiated by “aha moments” and “conceptual leaps” that put “the myriad individual, idiosyncratic, and situational details into a meaningful, coherent, theoretic perspective” (para 2).

According to Saldaña, "Virtually every qualitative research methodologist agrees: whenever anything related to and significant about the coding or analysis of the data comes to mind, stop whatever you are doing and write a memo about it immediately" (p. 42).

Richardson (1994) refers to analytic memos as "theoretical notes." These are the researcher's hunches, hypotheses, connections, and/or critiques about what is being seen and heard in the field. The researcher opens up his or her texts to interpretation and a "critical epistemological stance" (p. 526).

Memo writing goes hand-in-hand with analysis. All sorts of memos may be generated during research, but the analytic ones mark the researcher's first attempts at creating findings.

In writing workshop, instructors guide their students: "Don't get it right, get it writ." This advice applies to the research memo as well. Saldaña says just write the memo; worry about the title and category later. He explains,

I simply write what is going through my mind, then determine what type of memo I have written to title it and thus later determine its place in the data corpus. Yes, memos are data; and as such they, too, can be coded, categorized, and searched with CAQDAS programs. Dating each memo helps keep track of the evolution of your study. Giving each memo a descriptive title and evocative subtitle enables you to classify it and later retrieve it through a CAQDAS search. (p. 42)

Grounded Theory and ATLAS.ti
One thing that has become more transparent to me in the coding and analysis readings is the connection between grounded theory and ATLAS.ti.

Some researchers distrust CAQDAS tools because “enduring foundationalist epistemologies are clearly being drawn on in their design and programming” (Brown, 2002). After reading portions of Strauss and Corbin’s (1998) handbook on grounded theory, I finally see what the critics are talking about. Key features of ATLAS seem to be borrowed directly from the grounded theory genre: open codes, in vivo codes, network views (Strauss and Corbin call them “diagrams”), and the integration of memos.

Strauss and Corbin did not claim to know much about computers in their 1998 volume, but they specifically mention ATLAS.ti as “more geared toward theory building” (p. 276) and reproduce a memo from ATLAS developer Heiner Legeiwe that says as much.

Questions:

• Both the grounded theory guidelines as well as Saldaña’s book refer to the use of categories. How does one denote categories in ATLAS.ti? I have been using prefixes to organize codes upfront, so my prefixes are definitely not categorical. They are simply organizational/topical in nature. Is this what code families are for? Does it matter?
• Saldaña refers to “subcodes” and “subcategories.” How can these be represented in ATLAS.ti?

References
Brown, D. (2002). Going digital and staying qualitative: Some alternative strategies for digitizing the qualitative research process. Forum Qualitative Sozialforschung/Forum: Qualitative Social Research, 3(2). Retrieved from http://www.qualitative-research.net/index.php/fqs/article/viewArticle/851

Piantanida, M., & Garman, N. B. (2009). The qualitative dissertation: A guide for students and faculty (2nd ed., Kindle version.). Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin.

Richardson, L. (1994). Writing: A method of inquiry. In N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln (Eds.), Handbook of qualitative research (pp. 516–529). Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications, Inc.

Strauss, A., & Corbin, J. M. (1998). Basics of qualitative research: Techniques and procedures for developing grounded theory. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications.

Saldaña, J. (2013). The coding manual for qualitative researchers (2nd ed.). Los Angeles: SAGE Publications Ltd.

Dropping the ball

Reflecting on Watt (2007)

Watt's 2007 piece, "On Becoming a Qualitative Researcher," is a first-person narrative of a novice researcher who "put reflexivity to the test by keeping a research journal" (pp. 82-83).

Unlike positivist studies, which are assessed by familiar standards of validity and reliability, the rigor of qualitative inquiry is determined more subjectively, beginning with the researcher herself through a process of reflexivity. In the absence of precise designs and formulas to guide their practice, qualitative researchers, Watt explains, must be willing to self-scrutinize. 

Reflexivity, as defined by Glesne (2006), "involves critical reflection on how researcher, research participants, setting, and phenomenon of interest interact and influence each other" (p. 6). Reflexivity statements "provide a kind of map to the decisions you make so that the reader can better understand (and question) the interpretations you make" (p. 127).

As a student, Watt understood reflexivity on a theoretical level but wasn't sure what it looked like in practice.

This is the third time in as many years that I have read Watt's article, and with each new reading, I gain new insights. Not surprisingly, this time around, my insights were colored by the fact that I am now immersed in my own dissertation project.

What did surprise me was just how intimately connected the practice of reflexivity is to improving trustworthiness in research, a topic I will try to address at the end of this post.

A refined sense of the reflexive process
First, putting aside textbook definitions, my understanding of reflexivity has grown more refined, especially as it relates to the act of writing and developing identity.  I was really struck by the influence of a (somewhat) regular writing regime on Watt's own personal development as much as her research process. This is the kind of exploratory and personal journal writing that Laurel Richardson advocates in "Writing: A Method of Inquiry," which Watt refers to several times.

In her research journal, Watt summarized her readings from the literature, reflected on events in the field, recorded participant data, and made notes about her methodology. "Through using writing as a method of inquiry I was able to make links between how I carried out my study, reflective journal entries, and the literature on qualitative methodology" (p. 98).  In other words, she developed the deliberative stance as advocated by Piantanida and Garman (2009) and came to recognize the "centrality of writing as a way of coming to know" (Ch. 9, “Experiential Text as a Content for Theorizing,” para 12).

More importantly, through writing, the deliberative stance becomes internalized: "Reflective writing allowed me to meaningfully construct my own sense of what it means to become a qualitative researcher" (Watt, p. 83).

On becoming an expert
Writing is one way to negotiate moments of conflict and disequilibrium. Like discussion and other forms of peer mediation, reflective writing creates a feedback loop -- a conversation with oneself -- for improving practice and developing expertise.

Yet, as Watt points out, it is during moments of crisis and tension that novice researchers typically slow down or shut down their writing entirely.

For instance, when faced with the task of data analysis, Watt was at a "complete loss" (p. 95), and so she made lots of charts and diagrams. She explains, "I was so focused on the need to do something with the data that I did not consider journaling as a means to think things through, on both a personal and a research level. That was a mistake. In retrospect, this was perhaps the time I needed it most" (p. 96).

The mistake is common in my field, education. Like novice qualitative researchers, new teachers experience a profound sense of disequilibrium. Overwhelmed and isolated, they put reflection on the back burner.

But reflexivity is the antidote to repeating mistakes, and building upon a foundation of subjective experience is a hallmark of expertise. Watt cites Eisner's (1991) concept of educational "connoisseurship," in which seasoned practitioners leverage their subjectivities in productive ways. Piantanida and Garman also cite Eisner's work in their Chapter 5 discussion of deliberation as a means of attaining phronesis, "a valuing of wisdom that can guide action within the complexities of unfolding experience."

Whether it's "critical subjectivity," "connoiseurship," or "phronesis," these ideas are very useful to me because they are nuanced versions of what I would simply call "developing expertise," and teachers developing expertise about technology is the topic of my dissertation. For purposes of my study, I have found the CHAT concept known as "expansive learning" (Engestrom) to be helpful, but I like how Eisner's term goes directly at the teacher-learner, teacher-researcher experience. I may need to borrow or develop a more precise term other than "expertise" (something else to reflect upon later).

At any rate, I have noted before in this blog the parallel developmental trajectories of novice qualitative researchers and teachers-as-learners insofar as stance, disposition, and expertise are concerned. And after re-reading Watt, I have a renewed sense of how reflexivity mediates this process.

The Multiple Realities perspective
I have also referred previously in this blog to the Multiple Realities perspective, a central notion in my theoretical frameworks. I was excited to make a connection between Watt's article and Labbo and Reinking's (1999) seminal theoretical piece, "Negotiating the Multiple Realities of Technology in Literacy Research and Instruction."

Although Labbo and Reinking do not specifically use the term "reflexivity," they put forth the Multiple Realities perspective as a way for New Literacies researchers to monitor and leverage subjectivities in a way that strengthens research-to-practice connections:

For example, when a question related to instructional  practice begins with the phrase "What  does the research say about...?" we  believe it should be followed by an explicit consideration of which reality or set of realities is being considered. Doing so means that the answer will inherently be more complex than citing a string of studies and drawing conclusions from them. It also suggests that it may be important to identify the realities to which a potential answer does not apply or why a question is not a relevant or particularly good one within certain realities. (p. 488)

The Multiple Realities perspective, then, is a framework for guiding reflexive thinking within New Literacies research projects. I had never thought about it in this way until now! Maybe I need to be more intentional about referencing it in the methods section of my Chapter 3.

Implications for use of digital tools
Finally, a note about digital technologies and the role they serve in supporting reflexive practice: Watt's descriptions of her struggles to corral and make sense of the data, the codes, and the categories highlighted the value (for me) of digital tools generally, and CAQDAS in particular. This last insight will only become more compelling with the passage of time (Watt's article is now six years old) and my own increasing awareness of how to use digital tools for qualitative inquiry.

Trustworthiness
The common thread that connects each of the above ideas is how they promote trustworthiness in qualitative research. The discipline of regular, reflexive writing -- "chronicling one's thinking" -- helps the researcher mediate the meaning of her experiences and continually develop her expertise.

As Watt explains, "Revisiting my study has strengthened my confidence in my ability to negotiate the  complex process of qualitative inquiry, and I now see myself as a researcher. The multiple layers of reflection drawn upon in writing and revising this paper have made me more cognizant of how far I have come, and have taken me further along the path to becoming a qualitative researcher" (p. 98).

Reflexivity develops an internal authority of self-knowledge (identity) and self-efficacy, alternate "measures," if you will, of excellence and trustworthiness in research.  Reflexivity develops an authentically authoritative voice that delivers the research findings and interpretations in a way that resonates with readers.

References

Glesne, C. (2005). Becoming qualitative researchers: An introduction (3rd ed.). Boston: Allyn & Bacon.

 Labbo, L. D., & Reinking, D. (1999). Negotiating the multiple realities of technology in literacy research and instruction. Reading Research Quarterly, 34(4), 478–492. doi:10.1598/RRQ.34.4.5

Piantanida, M., & Garman, N. B. (2009). The qualitative dissertation: A guide for students and faculty (2nd ed., Kindle version.). Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin.

Watt, D. (2007). On becoming a qualitative researcher: The value of reflexivity. The Qualitative Report, 12(1), 82–101.

Reflecting on Watt (2007)

Drawing implications from Potter & Hepburn

As preeminent voices in the field of discursive psychology and interaction studies, Potter and Hepburn began their careers researching interviews and interactions. It is through this lens that they offer advice and implications to qualitative researchers on the use of open-ended interview data.

from FreeDigitalPhotos.net

The authors contextualize their argument with 20 years of conversation analytic research on the Q&A format in institutional settings and everyday life. On top of that, researchers are now studying the use of Q&A in the social sciences, turning the "analytic searchlight" on themselves (p. 4).  

Potter and Hepburn want to bring rigor to a form of data collection that has been "too easy, too obvious, and too little studied," and, thus, has been the basis of much poor research (p. 3). They say their goal is to critique the ubiquitous open-ended interview so as to improve it. Considering their backgrounds, can they do this without coming across as theoretically and methodologically imperialist?

To their critics, Potter and Hepburn simply say "...[R]esearchers defending the status quo will need to show that the close dependence of both the form and content of the ‘answer' on the design and delivery of the ‘question' is not of general consequence" (p. 17). Who can argue with that?

A theory-to-practice feedback loop

The chapter is organized into two sections: analyzing interview data and reporting findings from interview data. Personally, I would have preferred more discussion about the design and conduct of interviews themselves, as that is what I'm in the process of doing right now. It seems that as we are interviewing so many procedural and methodological missteps can occur.

I guess it is Potter and Hepburn's belief that the researcher has more oversight over the analysis and reporting stages. We have greater opportunity at these stages to practice reflexivity and exercise conscious control over methodological choices than during the unstructured free-flow of qualitiative interviews. Their point is that theory feeds practice. The more carefully we attend to the challenges in our analysis and presentation of findings, the more thoughtful we will be in our future interview set-ups. Maybe we will reconsider our choice of data generation altogether. (True to their roots, Potter and Hepburn recommend more consideration be given to natural interactions.)

Each section of the chapter addresses four challenges. The first section deals with challenges in reporting and representing data; the second section discusses analytical challenges. As I summarize these, I will note specific implications for my current project.

Challenges and opportunities for reporting interview data

1) Make the interview set-up explicit. Describe how the participants were recruited and the explicit language and categories used to do so. Further, what kind of task, instruction, guidance were the interviewees given? I did not conduct a blind recruitment. I simply sent out a blanket invitation to all the study participants asking them to talk to me about their experience. I have the wording of that email which I can include as an appendix along with the interview protocol that I read verbatim at the outset of each interview.

2) Display the active role of the interviewer. Rather than inserting illustrative quotes from participants only, carefully include extracts that include the entire interactional turn between interviewer and interviewee. This enables readers to see "how the form of the answer may be occasioned by the form of the question" (p. 10). Fair enough. This seems more doable in a dissertation study than in a journal article with space constraints. Potter and Hepburn are building a case for a total departure from how participants' voices are depicted in qualitative studies. The introduction of the playscript format, itself not widely used in research articles, is still inadequate, according to the authors, because it does not capture "delivery of the talk" (p. 10). Are they really suggesting that all qualitative researchers use Jeffersonian transcription?

3) Represent talk in a way that captures action. And there it is: Jeffersonian transcription "allows the identification of a number of potentially consequential interviewer actions" (p. 13). Potter and Hepburn suggest that we give our extracts (not the full transcripts) the Jeffersonian treatment. This is also completely doable in a dissertation study and would likely be appreciated by committee members, so long as an explicit explanation is provided and a key to Jeffersonian notation appears in the appendices. I am currently revising portions of Chapter 3, and I wonder if this isn't something I should consider doing?

from FreeDigitalPhotos.net

4) Tie analytic observations to specific features of interviews. This suggestion is based on the claim that interview data is under-analyzed. Instead of combining interview data with large chunks of analysis in one paragraph, Potter and Hepburn recommend bolstering the analysis with simple formatting changes, such as representing turns on separate lines and numbering the lines.  Again, not hard to do when one is not constrained by space limitations or word counts, as in a dissertation study. But I wonder how these representational practices would be received by journal editors and article reviewers?

Challenges and opportunities during analysis

5) Flooding. This is the phenomenon of the interviewer's agenda creeping into the interview in benign ways, such as follow-up questions and probs formulated on the fly as well as "acknowledgement tokens" and agreement statements which potentially lead interviewees down a desired path. While these interactional events are natural and cannot necessarily be curtailed, they need to be acknowledged or risk analysis "chasing its own tail" (p. 20). I am not sure what the implications of this might be other than to heighten awareness and reflexivity and to perhaps include interpretive commentary to that effect when including extracts with multiple turns.

6) Footing. Footing refers to the various positions or categories that participants may speak from during an interview. In Extract 3 the interviewer poses a question that the interviewee may answer from a personal or institutional standpoint or some combination thereof. Likewise, the interviewer may be positioned as someone who is personally interested in the question or one who is just asking the question so it can go "on the record," like a disinterested reporter. This is fascinating. At this point in the discussion, it is safe to say that the extract Potter and Hepburn have used extensively throughout this article, the one illustrating a "put together on the spot" question about teachers (p. 19), is really just pretty terrible. It is like the proverbial "How did you feel when _____" questions that TV news reporters ask disaster survivors.  Does the question really bear asking? Potter and Hepburn don't belabor that point; they simply call attention to the lack of interviewer engagement, no "ohs" or "hmm-hmms." To an extent, these conversational elements are "subtle, complex and potentially consequential" (p. 24). When they are missing altogether, it suggests that the interviewer perhaps asked a question for which he or she already knew the answer. To be considered a credible social scientist, I had better ask thoughtful questions I genuinely care about, lest I be compared to a "news anchor."

7) Stake and interest. Unlike corporate-sponsored focus group surveys, qualitative research is typically conducted by someone who feels passionately about the topic, and interviewees are recruited because they ostensibly have an interest in the topic too. It is a wise analytic move to pay attention to how interviewer and interviewee manage their stake in the discussion. It seems that stake and interest are the the next logical progression from footing. If I openly acknowledge my interest in the topic, listen attentively, and engage with my participants, I must be reflexive about the consequences of these actions.

8) Cognitivism and individualism. Potter and Hepburn call qualitative researchers to task -- particularly constructivists -- for the ironic "privileging of conceptual mediation over action and the treatment of cognitive language as referential" (p. 28). Qualitative researchers put their interviewees in an impossible "epistemic position" to speak their minds and the minds of others, as if that kind of knowledge can be objectively reported and stated without performing a "range of ambitious cognitive judgments and feats of memory and analysis" (p. 29). Cognitive language (reminding me of the "residue" of positivism from Piantanida and Garman's book) creeps into our interactions, carrying with it the assumption that somehow people have "immediate and privileged access to their own opinions and attitudes" (p. 30). A discourse or conversation analysis approach would obviously be Potter's and Hepburn's desired route to mediate this challenge, but that isn't the only way. I am interested in the analytical tools of Cultural-Historical Activity Theory, which enable the researcher to explore "agentive dimensions" (emotions, identity, motivation) (Roth, 2009, p. 53). In one such study, Roth and colleagues (2004) drew from case study data, including transcripts, to theorize identity formation as predicated upon actions and outcomes.The authors contended that identity is not stable and is the outcome of participation in social activity. The key here is that interview data was not privileged over other forms (videotapes, journal reflections, field notes, and emails), a methodological move that Potter and Hepburn would endorse.

References

Potter, J., & Hepburn, A. (in press). Eight challenges for interview researchers. In J. F. Gubrium, & J. A. Holstein (Eds.), Handbook of interview research (2nd ed.). London: Sage Publications.

Roth, W.-M. (2009). On the inclusion of emotions, identity, and ethico-moral dimensions of actions. In A. Sannino, H. Daniels, & K. D. Gutierrez (Eds.), Learning and expanding with activity theory (pp. 53–71). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Roth, W.-M. (2004). Activity theory and education: An introduction. Mind, Culture, and Activity, 11(1), 1–8. doi:10.1207/s15327884mca1101_1

Drawing implications from Potter & Hepburn

Perspicacity or paint-by-numbers?

Good research is not about good methods as much as it is about good thinking. (Stake, 1995, p. 19)

Writing is thinking on paper. -- William Zinnser

Perspicacity 1936

For a Tuesday night class, I was asked to lead discussion on a reading selection about case study research in the field of literacy.

This was a prime opportunity, as I am in the middle of a self-directed, crash course on case study methodology for my own dissertation. Remembering the advice of a former university instructor who said that presenting a formal, scholarly talk on a subject is good preparation for the eventual task of academic writing, I used this occasion to sort out my nascent understandings of the case study literature, namely the works of two leading methodologists, Stake (1995) and Yin (2008).

First, to catch everyone up: Although I already have written and defended a dissertation proposal, I feel my research design, which includes case study, is flimsy. I proposed a project using Cultural-Historical Activity Theory (CHAT) and activity systems analysis within a case study, but I am not at all versed in case study method. In my proposal I devoted my time to a thorough treatment of CHAT, which is a substantive theoretical and analytical frameworks that does not provide a clear logic of design. Thus, in the literature, you will encounter CHAT theorists who specialize in other methods, such as design-based research, ethnography, and case study.

So, in consultation with my professors, I decided that part of my work this semester -- even as I am actively collecting data and beginning initial analysis -- would be to take a closer look at the case study tradition and develop an appropriate "logic-of-justification" (Piantanida & Garman, 2009) for its use in my study.

I began the presentation on Tuesday evening with the above quote from Stake and an image from Rene Magritte, whose artwork Stake references both on the cover and in Chapter 6 of his 1995 book, The Art of Case Study Research.

I loved Chapter 6 of this book. Stake demonstrates how epistemology is expressed through multiple overlapping and intertwined researcher identities: teacher, participant observer, interviewer, reader, storyteller, advocate, artist, counselor, evaluator, consultant. The researcher is all of these, but his or her "style" determines the emphasis given each role.

In a section titled "Case Researcher as Interpreter," Stake argues that "research is not just the domain of scientists, it is the domain of craftspersons and artists as well, all who would study and interpret" (p. 97). He connects case study to the Surrealist Magritte, who juxtaposed everyday images to make assertions about the world and humanity. "Magritte worked his white clouds against luminous blue sky again and again, drawing attention to ourselves as creators of meaning -- and to the artist as our agent, helping us toward new realizations" (p. 98).

I enjoyed Stake's discussion about "researcher as interpreter" and decided to include a bit of that in my presentation on Tuesday. I selected Magritte's Perspiracity as a discussion starter. I had to look up this word, which means "acute mental vision and discernment." I thought this connected nicely with Piantanida and Garman's discussion around the concept of phronesis, the wisdom and "theoretic perspective" that guides the researcher "toward a form of representation that can convey the complexity of the phenomenon clearly and persuasively" (Ch. 13, Warranting a Thesis, para 3). Stake simply called it "good thinking."

[Confession: As I browsed thumbnails of Magritte's art on the Internet, my initial reaction to the image of the stiff man in a suit painting a bird while studying what appears to be a common chicken egg was, "How sad, uninspired, and predictable." Maybe Magritte's title is a tongue-in-cheek joke? Still. Some scholars in the UK, at least, also made the Perspicacity and phronesis connection, as evidenced by the book cover to the right, shared with me by a classmate just this morning! Wild, huh?]

For the presentation on case study, I wanted to do something more than just deliver a tired, bullet-pointed explication of methodological conventions. So, I delivered a tired, bullet-pointed explication of methodological conventions -- with a twist. I tried framing the presentation (embedded below) as my personal process of constructing a logic-of-justification.

One idea, in particular, that I wanted to put out there is the novice researcher's struggle to break out on his or her own while self-consciously clinging to "prescriptive formulas" (Piantanida & Garman). This theme came out in full at the end of the presentation, during Q&A time, when I shared some of my own questions:

• Which perspective on case study (Stake, Yin, others???) is a good epistemological fit for my project? Do I need to align with one perspective? By paragraph three of his introduction, Yin already sounds more objectivist than Stake, using terms like "validity" and "chain of evidence." Also, in answer to the question, "How does one know to use case study?" Yin writes, "There's no formula, but your choice depends in large part on your research question(s)." This is opposite of an interpretivist mindset that would say the researcher's proclivities and epistemology determine the method/approach.
•  Where does the rich, narrative description (experiential text) of case study fit into a CHAT dissertation? As a stand-alone chapter?

I cannot help it. The novice in me craves scaffolds and step-by-step guidelines, which imposes a significant (productive?) tension vis-a-vis my desire to say and do something innovative and original. I am gripped by these competing mindsets (not to mention what a ticking clock and dwindling bank account are doing to my willingness to invest an "extra year" in the name of "scholarly integrity and perseverance.")

My project resides on a continuum, somewhere between masterpiece and paint-by-numbers.

Section Four of The Qualitative Dissertation portrays six students' maneuverings along this same continuum. Interestingly, of the six interpretive exemplars, I most related to the  journeys of Jean and Joan, who each produced highly conceptualized, arts-based inquiries. While I am not doing anything so artsy (I am doing one of the more hum-drum qualitative genres out there!), I appreciated their struggles "to come to grips with the issue of genre" in the midst of doing their studies.

https://docs.google.com/presentation/d/1T9_KtfS6XvpnpLQtHRkv6TqwS8g7PCi3o8GlB8AFxgA/edit?usp=sharing

References

Piantanida, M., & Garman, N. B. (2009). The qualitative dissertation: A guide for students and faculty (2nd ed., Kindle version). Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin.

Stake, R. E. (1995). The art of case study research. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications.

Yin, R. K. (2008). Case study research: Design and methods (4th ed., Kindle version). Los Angeles: SAGE.

Perspicacity or paint-by-numbers?

On writing: train of thought, experiential text, problem statements, and lit reviews

This week’s readings from Piantanida and Garman’s (2009, Kindle edition) The Qualitative Dissertation: A Guide for Students and Faculty provided a jolt.  That brief moment of glory following the proposal defense is definitely over. It’s time to get back to work, and by “work,” I mainly mean writing. 

I have a love-hate relationship with writing. One of my favorite quotes about writing, variously attributed, goes something like this: “I hate to write. I love to have written.”

What follows are reflections and questions on past and future writing endeavors. I then conclude with ideas for my first project report for EP 659, due Feb. 14.

Writing (riding?) my train of thought

As I began reading chapters 9-12, a message from last week’s class stood foremost in my mind: THE ONLY THING YOU ARE GOING TO CHANGE WITH YOUR RESEARCH IS YOU. This resonates with Piantanida and Garman’s assertions about the "centrality of writing as a way of coming to know" (Ch. 9, “Experiential Text as a Content for Theorizing,” para 12). This is the nature of interpretive and practice-based dissertations, and I best get on board with it.

It’s not like I haven’t heard this stuff before. Piantanida and Garman remind me of things I’ve read recently (Kilbourn’s extremely helpful essay on crafting the qualitative proposal and Richardson’s classic, “Writing: A Method of Inquiry”) and things I have read not so recently, such as Welty’s One Writer’s Beginnings. I read that in high school!

When preparing my proposal earlier this winter, I found the Kilbourn piece to be especially comforting; Kilbourn provides explicit guidance on technical aspects that Piantanida and Garman do not. For instance, his description of the research problem as a gradually narrowing “train of thought” helped me considerably in writing my first chapter. Kilbourn’s advice on tackling the problem statement from a qualitative perspective is much more practical than Piantanida and Garman’s recommendation to abandon the problem statement altogether. (I will elaborate on this in a moment.)

Nonetheless, it’s there in Kilbourn too: the needling awareness that your train of thought runs on a short, messy track. Eventually you reach the end of the line, and “you have tvo construct the path you want to take” (pp. 569-570).  Kilbourn echoes Piantanida and Garman’s theme of deliberation when he writes, “Thus, the framing and wording of the proposal should reflect an attitude of genuine inquiry—it involves a spirit of genuinely finding out rather than proving" (p. 537).

Expressing the problem, defining the dilemma

In Chapter 11 Piantanida and Garman describe parts of the proposal. In acknowledgement of the fact that A) the proposal must be organized in a way that  supports the student’s line of reasoning and B) each institution has its own rules for format, the authors take extra care to avoid prescribing an order of the parts.

I experienced this quandary myself and was glad that my department’s PhD handbook allows flexibility in use of headings and sequencing. For instance, due to the number of technical terms related to my topic as well as the general “newness” of my frameworks to my field, I felt it was necessary to include a lengthy list of definitions fairly early in my first chapter. Also, for purposes of improved flow, I incorporated a thorough treatment on study significance after my Chapter 2 literature review. Kilbourn’s suggestions for “sign-posting” and “metawriting” gave me the confidence to try this (p. 563).

As I mentioned earlier, I found the whole discussion of problem statements to be…a problem. Piantanida and Garman recommend not having a "statement of the problem" because it is a holdover of positivist/scientifically framed studies. Then, they go on to describe how interpretive research is concerned with  "perplexing aspects" of "complex" human affairs -- in other words, problems. I don't think stating a "problem" necessarily carries the assumption that a solution exists. Qualitative researchers make it their business to "problematize" taken-for-granted situations, to make the ordinary problematic. So why not a problem statement? 

Or, better, what about the term "dilemma"? Maybe we should call it the "statement of the dilemma." For example, in my current project, the broad issue or topic under examination is teaching and learning with and through technology, which most reasonable stakeholders would agree is not a problem per se. But, it is inherently dilemmatic. Explaining what this means is the problem statement.

So, like the case of Marjorie (“Henny Penny” from Chapter 8), who “aimed to elucidate the nature of the dilemmas so that she could make more conscious and deliberate choices about her teaching practice" (Ch. 11, "Practice-Focused Dissertations," para 3), my goal is to problematize conventional thinking around instructional technology and teacher development, that is, the traditional view that problems in IT are often conceptualized as “gaps”(gaps in access and performance, gaps in discrete skills sets, and so on). However, as these concrete and discernable gaps are closed (with more computers, more networks, more training, etc.), new (and less transparent) inequities arise. Hutchison and Reinking (2011) surveyed literacy teachers across the country and confirmed that, while issues related to network access and technology support were largely becoming resolved, two distinct levels of use and integration existed in schools. They referred to these levels broadly as “technological integration” and “curricular integration,” with the former reflecting a lower-level, superficial stance toward technology as “add-on” (p. 314).

I return now to Piantanida and Garman, who jettison the problem statement entirely and replace it with something called a "statement of intent." But this, to me, sounds like the classic "purpose of the study" section? Don’t I need both a problem (a perplexing phenomenon) and a purpose (what I intend to do about it)? 

Crafting experiential text

As discussed last week in class, Piantanida and Garman’s concept of “experiential texts” equates to what we traditionally call the “findings.” The researcher must create "as textured and nuanced a 'picture' of the study context as possible” (Ch. 9, “Purpose of Experiential Text,” para 2). The process of writing experiential text, linking conceptual points, and constructing the core thesis is recursive and arduous.

Compared to the painstaking attention to detail that quantitative researchers apply to the design and execution of their studies, the rigor of qualitative studies lies in the crafting of  experiential texts. These texts must evoke an empathetic response in the reader. More importantly, they must evoke questions. The reader should question simplistic interpretations and taken-for-granted assumptions in the workaday world. The reader should ask, "What would I do in this situation?" This sets the stage for the theoretic text and the concepts that the researcher will offer as "a heuristic map" to guide "wise action” (Ch. 9, “Experiential Text as a Context for Theorizing,” para 7).

Piantanida and Garman use the term "iterative interpretation" for this process of bridging situational details (the raw data from the study context) to the conceptual issue being studied. This opens the door for "theoretic interpretation," which means drawing on formal discourses and concepts to make meaning of the situation.

This is an area of need in my academic writing. I am creating those bridges, but they are shaky. As my committee members pointed out to me, I have this undeniable tendency to end my paragraphs with a quote from the literature. Their advice is straight out of AP senior English class: I must take better care to couch other's words with my own interpretation and commentary. Ack! I used to teach this stuff. Why can't I do it?

For this reason, I found the last question in Reflective Interlude 9.1 to be relevant but challenging: What can I do to practice iterative and theoretic interpretation? Now that my consciousness has been raised, I am not sure how to proceed other than to revise the most offending passages in my proposal and then turn my sights on future writing efforts, such as my imminent plunge into the case study literature.

Reviewing the literature

The literature review is a “discursive text” that represents “the diversity of thinking associated with key concepts in one’s study” (Ch. 11, “Discursive text versus review of literature,” para 3). The literature review should also support one’s rationale for choosing a specific research genre/approach through construction of a “logic-of-justification.”

When too little time is spent with the literature, students encounter the pitfall of merely justifying qualitative inquiry against dominant positivist and postpositivist traditions. However, a well-written logic-of-justification does more than that. It justifies the qualitative inquiry against ongoing debates and discourses within its own traditions.

Like every other aspect of qualitative research, this process is disorienting and stress-inducing. Last fall, as I delved into readings on Cultural-Historical Activity Theory, I stumbled into “pockets of discourse where scholars are engrossed in discussions that one finds meaningful" (Ch. 11, “Preparing to construct a logic-of-justification,” para 3). I was in the middle of writing my frameworks when I discovered divergent opinions about CHAT between two leading theorists.

I had aligned myself with one theorist only to discover that another was making an equally compelling argument that seemed dismissive of the first guy. Did this mean I had to choose sides? I quickly sent off an email to one of my committee members whose methodological opinions I had come to rely on. She responded, “The issues you are dealing with do not have a right or wrong answer. It is an area that need cultivating, and you can join the conversation to do that.” Upon reflection, her reply now seems very much in alignment with Piantanida and Garman’s point of view (and Kilbourn’s).

And I am still not done constructing my logic-of-justification. In my readings on CHAT, I realized that, while drawn to design-based research (often used in CHAT studies), the opportunity to propose a design experiment had long since passed. It would be impossible for me to both follow this approach and meet the expectations of my committee chair, who also happened to be the lead instructor in the context under investigation (complicated!).

In my continued review of activity-theoretical studies, I learned that case study is another time-honored approach within the CHAT tradition. I am now poised to delve into that literature, but I am a little nervous. Although I have no reservations about CHAT as a coherent and compatible match to my own assumptions and research "proclivities," I have no idea how or if I can successfully locate myself within the case study tradition.

Will I find a reasonably strong and coherent link connecting the case study genre to my own "proclivities for making meaning"?  Will all my early data collection efforts, done without tether to a specific methodology, be in vain? Isn’t it too late for me to ask these questions?

I am hopeful that, as I explore the case study literature more deeply in the coming weeks, my process in comparing and interpreting them (Yin, Stake) will help me sort out some answers to these questions. I am also wondering if my documentation of this process (through writing) could serve as the bulk of my first project report for EP 659. 

References

Hutchison, A., & Reinking, D. (2011). Teachers’ perceptions of integrating information and communication technologies into literacy instruction: A national survey in the United States. Reading Research Quarterly, 46(4), 312–333.

Kilbourn, B. (2006). The qualitative doctoral dissertation proposal. The Teachers College Record, 108(4), 529–576.

Piantanida, M., & Garman, N. B. (2009). The qualitative dissertation: A guide for students and faculty (Second Edition, Kindle edition.). Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin.

On writing: train of thought, experiential text, problem statements, and lit reviews